


Not of this World

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they are forced to separate, Gerald Tarrant and his king spend a last night together...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not of this World

**Author's Note:**

> Well, as I'm absolutely not used to getting my stuff together in such a short time span, I hope the story won't be too bad. Some of you might disagree on the way I portrayed Gerald and Gannon and their relationship. Of course, it's quite tempting to present Gannon as the evil one who stabs his courtier's back, but we simply don't know what truly came to pass and why the king in the end decided to outlaw private sorcery. Others might point out that it seems unlike Gerald Tarrant to kind of sacrifice himself for the greater good, but we should remember that the church was indeed his most treasured creation. Moreover, at the particular time the story's set in, Tarrant hadn't had his fateful heart attack yet which caused him to spiral down into the darkness. With many years supposedly still laying before him (see Ciani), he might very well have thought that he could sit it out in Merentha for a while and return in triumph later. But enough of the blarney. Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. With regard that this was written for the Porn Battle 2014, consider yourself warned, lol...
> 
> P.P.S. Now I almost forgot to mention that my prompts for the 'Ides of Porn' somehow got mixed up, meaning that four different prompts were suddenly drawn into one. This story was written for the prompt 'Gerald Tarrant/King Gannon, torch, church, knight, adeptitude, loss'. And yeah, I wrote a fic for my own prompt, because nobody else requested the Coldfire Trilogy. Shame on you! ;-)
> 
> P.P.P.S. Music: Ludovico Einaudi, Fuori Dal Mondo (Not of this world). It's so sad and beautiful, and I constantly listened to it while writing this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You have to outlaw private sorcery and dissociate yourself from him, Your Majesty! That creature…"

Rapidly running out of patience, King Gannon shot the fat, toad-like man in front of him a withering glare. "Just in case you're suffering from acute amnesia, the name of _that creature_   is Gerald Tarrant, Neocount of Merentha and Premier of the Order of the Golden Flame, the latter a title you yourself have bestowed upon him," he forced out between gritted teeth. "He has fought my wars for me, Your Holiness! And yours, by the way. In fact, he has written almost every single one of your damned scriptures! Don't you know the meaning of the word 'gratefulness', for God's sake?"

"You shouldn't take the name of the Lord in vain, Sire. As for the Neocount: I don't deny that he was invaluable for us in terms of consolidating our faith. Times change, though, and for the greater glory of God we have to change with them. But the Church is merciful. If Gerald Tarrant repents his sins and forsakes his evil witchery, we will welcome him back into the fold with open arms. On a... somewhat less exposed position, of course. Should he insist on his errors on the other hand…" The Patriarch added another dramatic pause, and Gannon clenched his fists in a desperate attempt to prevent them from closing around his opponent's neck. "In this case, we would sadly be forced to condemn him outright and strike his name from the books. What's in a name, anyway? All that matters is the purity of the doctrine and the image of the Prophet as the shining symbol of our faith. The man behind it is of no real importance at all."

"Isn't he?" Incensed, Gannon jumped to his feet. "You've been very eloquent, but now I'm going to tell you something, you devious little hypocrite. Gerald and I go way back. Goddamn, without his aid, in all probability I would have ended up dead on a battle field or breathed my last on the executioner's block. After all the shit we've been through together, I just won't throw him to the wolves, not even to wolves in the sheep's clothing of a bunch of overzealous clergymen. Fortunately, as much as you wish otherwise, my word is still law in my kingdom, and if you're intent on harming the only true friend I've ever had, you'll have to do it over my dead body! That's my last word on the matter. And now kindly get you gone! I've got a country to run."

"Even kingdoms can fall, Sire. And kings. You'd better remember that before you decide to defy us. Or could it be true that there are other reasons for your defiance? Very… private reasons? Without a doubt, the Neocount is rather beautiful to behold. It is said that his services for king and country, how shall I put it politely, go way beyond the liege services usually required from a vassal. Or even from a treasured friend. But of course, it's just a case of malicious falsehood, isn't it?"

"My private life's none of your business, you nosy busybody!" Gannon thundered, banging his fist on the table that the precious cut crystal goblets started to sway precariously. "For one single day, that's quite enough. Tax my patience even further, and you might find out that a king has his ways and means for ridding himself of rebellious subjects who have the cheek to order him around. And now you have my permission to remove yourself from my presence, Your Holiness."

When the Patriarch had left in a huff, he slumped down on his armchair and buried his face in his hands. God damn those pompous, ungrateful bastards Tarrant called his brothers in faith! But whatever the consequences, there was no chance in hell he would give up on the one and only human being he'd ever loved in his entire life. His mild interest in the woman his parents had picked for him when he'd still been a lad of nineteen without high hopes of ever acceding to the throne hadn't even survived the wedding night. But in all those years which had passed since the adept had saved his life in the courtyard of his father's stronghold, he had never tired of him. The unique spell of Gerald's personality worked like a drug. The more he got, the more he wanted, and sometimes he couldn't help but wondering whether his lover was using his strange powers to bewitch him.

Not that he was giving a damn. In the eyes of the public, he was the imposing monarch in whose presence his courtiers bowed and scraped, miserable sycophants that they were, but insiders knew very well who represented the true power behind the throne. Without this man of genius coming up with unheard-of strategies and leading his troops from victory to victory, he would have never kept his kingdom in the first place! When they had met at the end of the dark ages, the Eastern continent had been ravaged by petty feuds and general upheaval. It had taken the unique combination of Gerald's brilliant brain, his idealism and the power his own office vested in him to impose order on the world. Together, they had pacified the lands and founded the Revivalist movement, gifting the human colonists on Erna with a breathtaking vision of beauty and light. Did all that suddenly count for nothing?

"And what are you going to do now?" a so very familiar voice whispered into his ear. "Throw me to the wolves, or risk everything we've fought so hard for?"

Startled, the king whirled around and gaped at the tall, lean frame loosely wrapped in a heavily embroidered, silken dressing gown. "Holy crap, Gerald, you gave me a fright," he blurted out exasperatedly. "Can't you approach me like a normal human being for once instead of sneaking about like one of the furry nuisances you breed at home? No wonder that folks think there's something queer about you."

The corners of Tarrant's mouth curled into a faint smile, but to his dismay, Gannon couldn't help but noticing the unusual pallor on his lover's finely chiselled features, and he felt a cold shiver of apprehension running down his spine. Under his wing, Gerald had risen high, but deep down in his soul, hidden from everybody but his royal lover and maybe his wife Almea, a shadow of the abused child so very terrified of being put to the torch for the crime of his adeptitude doubtlessly lingered on. The dreadful atrocities committed against him by his brothers had done one more thing to cause severe childhood trauma, and there were still nights when the ever so controlled Neocount was awakend by his own screams. On those occasions, he wished with all his heart that he could send Gerald's eight older brothers to the blackest pit of hell where they belonged. Thank God, their bestial father, a rather fertile but relatively unimportant country aristocrat, had already led the way long ago. To that, he had seen himself, and he had enjoyed it.

But that was all water under the bridge now. All that mattered was that Gerald had evidently overheard the heated discussion with his thrice damned superior. No wonder that, with his deepest fears catching up with him, he was looking like ten miles of bad road. "Are you alright, beloved?" he inquired compassionately. "You're unusually pale."

"It's nothing. I'm just tired and a bit short of breath. But don't use my state of health to evade my question, Gannon. As you will understand, your decision is of utmost importance for me."

Shell-shocked, the monarch blinked. "Good heavens, Gerald you… you don't really believe that I'm going to let that scumbag driving a wedge between us, do you?" he stammered helplessly. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I desert you, and if it puts you at rest, I solemnly swear that…"

Tarrant silenced him with a slender index finger to his lips. "Shush now. Don't make promises you can't keep," he whispered gently. "I appreciate your devotion, but I can't allow you to tear my most treasured creation apart in a religious war. For years, I've written my fingers bloody to create a faith which can stand the test of time. This was my dream, as you very well know, and the rest just frills and furbelows. Putting everything at stake now for the sake of one single man, even if I am this man..."

"But Gerald, that's sheer lunacy! Have you ever listened to yourself? You sound exactly like your superior with his drivel about the bloody 'purity of the doctrine'. And what the hell are you expecting me to do now? Send you into exile? That worthless piece of shit will have a field day!

"Just so." The adept's light tenor was perfectly calm, his angelic features as serene as if they were talking about the weather, but after so many years, the king knew him well enough to register the tension in his strong shoulders. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to leave for Merentha Castle," Tarrant continued softly. "The spring crop sowing preparations are just around the corner, and when this is done, I could pass the time with breeding true horses or perfecting the fur of my uncats. And of course, there's Almea and the children. But tonight... tonight I'm still at your disposal, _my liege_."

One of the first things Gerald had given up after escaping the clutches of his family was his accent. Except in certain situations. More than once, the melodious lilt of the people of the North had acted as a secret code in boring crown council assemblies, a sweet promise of even sweeter things to come. Hearing it now, a surge of arousal erupted inside King Gannon so powerful that it swept away all thoughts of insubordinate patriarchs and imminent separations.

With shaking fingers, he untied the belt of Tarrant's gown and let his hands wander over the flawless skin of his thighs. With his perfect features and leanly muscled body, even pushing his thirties his lover was no less alluring than he had been in his youth. And Gerald had indeed been very young when he had first lain with him. Barely fifteen, scared stiff due to his bad experiences, but yet willing to put his trust into a man eight years his senior. Since then, the adept had writhed in pleasure and in pain in his arms, had suffered a terrible loss just to rise again like a phoenix from the ashes and had wielded a pen and a sword with equal skill. Not to mention designing his fairy tale castle and shining at his king's court. Being able to explore this unfathomable personality in all its facets certainly contributed to the peculiar appeal Gerald had with him.

And then there were the carnal delights of love. Enjoying a good meal or a decent glass of wine was doubtlessly enjoyable, but nothing in his entire life had ever come even remotely close to sampling the pleasures of this silky, cream-white flesh. After all those years, they both knew which buttons to push without having to talk about it. He could feel it in his very bones whether his lover wanted a long, slow fuck or needed it fast and rough. And Gerald... he was simply not of this world. The veritable dirty old man's dream come true. Presumably utilizing the fae currents to read him like an open book, the adept had taken him far beyond anything he had thought possible in his wildest teenage dreams, had made him begging himself hoarse for his release until...

"Are you satisfied with thinking about having sex, or can we move on to something a bit more substantial?" The words were uttered in a low, seductive purr which caused his hairs to stand on end all over his body, and when his so very alluring Knight of the Realm let the gown slip from his shoulders and bent over the table without further ado, Gannon didn't hesitate any longer. As his probing middle finger was easing into tight, oiled heat, he grinned wolfishly. With regard to the preparations, Gerald obviously wasn't inclined to waste precious time on preliminaries. The 'fast and rough' version seemed to be on his agenda for the day, and that was exactly what he would get. At least for a start... Moaning softly, Tarrant arched his back like an uncat in heat, and no more subtle hints were necessary. Delighted at his lover's eagerness, Gannon unlaced his leggings and replaced his finger with a rock-hard part of his anatomy located a bit further southwards.

Merciful God in Heaven, the adept felt so good it should have been illegal. It wasn't just the incredible sensation of the lithe body opening for him with a shudder of lust, the nigh to unbearable friction and those devilish internal muscles which were massaging his throbbing cock until he thought he couldn't take it any longer. That was all well and good, but nothing that a reasonably talented whore couldn't have exercised as well. But Gerald was, well, simply Gerald, the man who meant the world to him, and that made a hell of a difference in terms of pleasure gain. Tarrant's low sighs and whimpers, his helpless little jerks when his sweet spot was being stimulated and the dirty talk he was wont to whisper into his royal lover's grateful ears when he was getting close - all this added up to an unbelievably intense sensual experience he wouldn't have traded for anything else on the entire planet.

"Fuck me! Harder!" Obediently, Gannon gripped those narrow, male hips and picked up the pace, aiming for best angle to bring his partner to orgasm. A violent jolt passed through the adept's body, accompanied by a heated "oh yes, right there..." which propelled his own arousal to unprecedented heights. Evidently, he had found what he had been looking for, and now he started to fuck his lover in earnest, deliberately directing his vigorous thrusts at the front of the tight, hot channel until Gerald came with a strangled cry of pleasure which very nearly put him over the edge as well.

Tarrant was still gasping for air when Gannon drew back, turned him around rather unceremoniously and hoisted him onto the tabletop. In the next instance, he entered him again, a course of action rewarded with another one of those lascivious moans which had never failed to turn him on yet. Being taken from behind doubtlessly made it easier for Gerald to climax without the aid of an additional hand-job, something he usually resented, because it restricted him to one single peak or two instead of riding wave after wave of pleasure for hours on end. But for Gannon himself, there was nothing like having his lover face to face. Just seeing him like this, his mesmerizing grey eyes closed in rapture and the breathtakingly beautiful features so favourably framed by silky waves of golden-brown hair the very picture of nigh to religious ecstasy, was bliss beyond words. He would never give up Gerald, not for money, not for all the damned thrones in the world and most certainly not for a bunch of impertinent clerics. If the adept still wanted to leave in the morning, so be it. They had been separated before, and it hadn't harmed their relationship. But after a few months, and one or two generous donations to the Church of Unification, he would call the man he loved like life itself back to his court, and everything would be fine again.

Gerald crossing his long legs behind his back and pulling him closer until he was buried inside him to the hilt brought him backt to the here and now. Enthralled, he watched as the adept's perfect, white teeth were biting down on his lower lip in a doomed attempt to keep everybody in the dark about what was going on in the king's study. Now Tarrant was moving with him, urging him on with his slender fingers which were digging deeply into his buttocks and a string of obscenities nobody but him would have credited the aloof, unapproachable Neocount of Merentha with, and Gannon knew that both of them wouldn't last much longer. Then Gerald came again, screaming his name and jerking convulsively in the throes of passion, and as the rhythmic pulse inside him triggered his own climax, he lost himself in the almost unbearably pleasant sensations.


End file.
